


Stitches

by HotGoatCheese



Series: Whumptober 2019 [11]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Non-consensual Transformation, Stranger!Tim, most of the above are referenced or implied moreso than explicitly shown, open wounds, post-Unknowing, self-surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 10:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotGoatCheese/pseuds/HotGoatCheese
Summary: The thing they don't tell you about waking up from being dead is...well, everything. No one really talks about waking up from being dead because it isn't suppose to happen. If they did though, Tim would put money on no one talking about the open wounds.





	Stitches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anysin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/gifts).

The thing they don't tell you about waking up from being dead is...well, everything. No one really talks about waking up from being dead because it isn't suppose to happen. If they did though, Tim would put money on no one talking about the open wounds. 

He had quite a few of them. His flesh seemed to have split everywhere from the force of the blast. His arms, legs, chest, belly, even his face. Tim could feel the skin of his face peeling back where it bisected over his left eye, across the bridge of his nose and down his left cheek to his right jaw. 

Some part of Tim's mind, some deeply flawed, deeply human part that existed somewhere between the rational and the vain insisted his wounds, his inevitable scars, should have more symmetry. The scars from the worms were fine, they were from worms. This was an explosion. There were waves, patterns, someone with enough knowledge of physics and biology should be able to look at his body and tell at a glance how he died. 

Tim knew in his heart that wasn't the case. 

What Tim didn't know was where that spool came from, with the silvery-white substance he didn't quite recognize, by look or by touch. It was't quite surgical thread, it caught too much light for that. Though it was about the thickness, Tim realized, as he ran his intact but trembling fingers over the thread, that it was about the same sturdiness. 

The Unknowing was over, so there was no call for reality to be swimming like this. The dust in the air to shape itself into pristine white walls. A laytex hand reached out to him. Tim didn't dare look up at what it was connected to, because the hand was stuck full of pins and needles. It just stayed there, right in the edge of his vision, fingers extended and perfectly still. 

The thread. The needles. 

The instruction was perfectly clear. 

Tim didn't want to, but for one reason or another his bleeding seemed to have slowed and he could see his wounds perfectly. He didn't know if he could die if he tried to just lay here, and that sort of inaction had never been his style. More than that, had never been feasible for him. He had to do something, and there was nothing else to do. 

Sometime between reaching out to pull the length of thread he needed and actually threading the needle, Tim's hands stopped shaking. He was almost more horrified by that than what he was about to do. 

He chose his leg to work on first, pricking the skin and as far down as he dared and drawing it across and through the skin on the other side of the wound. Tim grit his teeth through the pain, and desperately hoped that it would still hurt the same by the time he was through. 

It didn't. 


End file.
